


Dating Douglas

by Altais4



Series: Dating Douglas [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Falling In Love, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altais4/pseuds/Altais4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a van job gone wrong Douglas offers to help - but for a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bluebell Cottage

**Author's Note:**

> This is a real first time fic, the first time for Douglas and Martin, and the first fanfic I’ve written ever.
> 
> Betaed by the ever patient Ianina, who strongly believes that Cabin Pressure should be about jokes and not romance, but offered to help nonetheless. Thank you so much!
> 
> Enjoy!

“You really could do with a CD-Player for your van.” Douglas fiddles with the radio, getting nothing but static. “The antenna might be broken.”

“It’s not broken. It’s detracted during the drive,“ Martin says absent-mindedly. The rain has increased over the last hour; he can hardly read the signposts anymore.

“Aha, and why is that?” Douglas asks. “Let me guess, according to your newly revised operations manual for Icarus Removals, the distraction by music is deemed to be an intolerable risk to our safety.”

Martin sighs. “There are good reasons why music isn’t allowed on a flight deck. Why should it be different for a delivery van, with so much more traffic and obstacles around?” 

“Yes, why indeed?” Douglas groans. “Maybe so that we aren’t bored out of our minds on a five-hour drive through some rural English landscape in the rain at near darkness.”

Martin feels a bit guilty about that. He’s more than grateful for Douglas’ help with this last minute job. “We could always talk, Douglas. It’s what we do onboard G-ERTI.”

“Yes?”

Martin wrecks his brain for something nice to say. But he also has to focus on driving. “When is the next turnoff?”

“And maybe a satnav would be advisable.” Douglas rustles with the map. “I think it’s still two miles.”

Martin relaxes a bit. If they keep on like this, they’ll reach Bluebell Cottage in an hour. “I would have asked Arthur. But you know, he has this family-thing with Carolyn and Herc –”

“Ah yes, and since my social life left me together with my now ex-wife Helena, I obviously have enough time on hand to give you a hand. Good choice of argumentation, Martin, that was motivational,” Douglas drawls. Suddenly his gaze falls to the right. “That was our turnoff.”

Martin has to break hard and turn in the middle of the road. Thank God, there’s not much traffic at this hour. When they’re on the right track again he resumes, “I’m sorry about the … erm … break-up with Helena and my … my role in it, even if it was totally unintentional. Who could imagine that being a captain would be essential for the appreciation of ones own wife. Not that it has ever worked in my favour."

“Martin, leave it alone.” 

“No, Douglas, I mean it. I really am grateful.” Then he adds with a little self-conscious laugh, “In fact, I couldn’t believe my good luck when you offered at first. I was sure you had an ulterior motive.”

Douglas huffs and stays unnaturally silent for some time, staring out of the window. It’s now pitch-dark. “So Martin, what about you?” he says at last. “Any success with the dating sites I showed you? Some lucky hit?” 

Martin hates this new line of conversation. He also has to concentrate on the road. The vision is reduced to a tiny patch illuminated by their headlights and the dark silhouettes of the trees beside it. He sighs. „As you’ve pointed out on numerous occasions, Douglas, there is no use. I can’t talk to women. As it turned out, I can't even write to them on the internet.”

“Are you sure? I know Arthur has an active social circle there. Yellow Car enthusiasts, lovers of funny hats – that sort of thing.”

Martin lets out an exasperated laugh before he becomes serious again. “Most of the time I have no idea what the girls are talking about,” he confides. “Some movie star or the newest boy-band. How should I know what to say?” 

„Ah, your infamous lack of hobbies,” Douglas muses. “It’s a shame that women aren’t nearly as interested in aviation as you, Martin. Maybe you should try men instead. Every boy has had some model aeroplane in their younger days.“ 

„But not the gay ones,“ Martin stammers. Then, belatedly, it dawns on him what he has just let on. God, he could hit himself. Could this become any more awkward? 

„Ah, not the gay ones, maybe not,” Douglas carries on unperturbed by Martins distress. “Are you speaking from experience, by the way?“

Martin feels his cheeks heating. With forced calm he looks straight ahead into the darkness. “Douglas, are you sure this was the right turnoff? This street has become single-track.” 

“Yes I am sure. My, my what a clever diversion!”

Martin feels his anger rising. „No, Douglas, it was not, and I am not … gay. Why would you even think such a thing? All our nights in a hotel room together, you would certainly have noticed if anything untoward –,” Martin catches himself as the van bumps into a pothole. Steadily he continues, “But it’s common knowledge that gay men -”

“Hmm … aren't fond aeroplanes?”

„No, no, but maybe, are interested in more feminine topics … like I don’t know. I’m not a woman, or a gay man obviously,” Martin finishes somewhat lamely. 

Suddenly, with an uncharacteristically stroke of luck, a light appears on the edge of Martins vision. It transforms into small buildings amid old oak trees. Martin breathes a sigh of relief. “Douglas, I think we’ve reached Bluebell Cottage.”

***

After a short drive through mud and gravel they arrive. Martin manoeuvres the van as close to the building as he can get. Under the huge trees the downpour of rain has lessened, but he doesn't want to risk soaking boxes full of books and electronics. When he reaches the cottage and searches for the bell push the front door opens, illuminating the driveway in a warm light. Lisa, a student from Fitton agricultural college who has lived at Parkside Terrace for the last three years, emerges and embraces him cheerfully. “Martin, you made it.” 

Flustered by the warm welcome, Martin returns the hug as he holds her unexpectedly close for a moment. When she proceeds to kiss him on both cheeks Martin becomes acutely aware of Douglas, watching him from behind, and most certainly preparing new teases. With an awkward smile he distances himself and points at the boxes. “Where shall I take them?”

“Oh, just down the hall.” Lisa grabs the first one and disappears into the house. Her mother, who has been hovering nearby, comes out to shake his hand. “So Martin, you’re the young man with the van Lisa told us all about. Thanks for stepping in on such a short notice.” 

“Actually, I’m an airline –,“ Martin swallows the rest of that sentence as he remembers his earlier conversation with Douglas. Why couldn’t he have his first officer’s easy way with people? Douglas radiates confidence even without his uniform. Silently Martin heads out to get the next box. Lisa catches up with him, chattering happily.

With the family’s help, unloading is a quick affair. Afterwards, Martin declines a friendly offer for tea, bearing the long journey back to Fitton in mind. Therefore in less than half an hour they’re under way again; Martin being well compensated for his efforts. Cautiously he turns the van towards the main road, for once in a much-improved mood. “God, that went well.” 

Douglas lounges comfortably in his seat and picks up the map again. “A lovely family, indeed. The daughter is actually quite charming in a rosy sort of way, making your urgency to take this job perfectly understandable.”

“Douglas, you wouldn’t believe it, but this is strictly about the money,” Martin answers in good humour. “And then there is always Paul to consider, her longstanding boyfriend and newly renounced fiancé. Thank God, he has broken his leg. Otherwise he would’ve done the moving job.” 

“That’s truly compassionate of you, Martin,” Douglas drawls. “Even if the boyfriend’s existence isn’t entirely unexpected, you must admit that the idea of our lonely captain eventually finding domestic bliss in the country, harvesting the fruits of the earth, is too good to let pass.” 

Martin imagines himself briefly with a girlfriend like Lisa. Being in the country reminds him of his mind numbing days in Wokingham. He sighs. If he ever allowed himself to dream, his life should be at least a bit more glamorous. “Please Douglas, for once, let it go. I’m perfectly happy here and now.” 

Martin relaxes in the drivers seat and has a quick look around. With the soft glow of the instruments and Douglas companionable presence beside him, the van feels almost cosy – a tiny, secure spot in the midst of the rainy darkness outside. Like onboard G-ERTI. 

Besides, he has no intention of letting Douglas ruin his good mood. Martin squints through the windscreen. He can make out a signpost reading ‘Craik’ in two miles. Maybe he should treat Douglas to dinner at the local pub. If there is a pub. 

“I for myself wouldn’t be averse to a mutual beneficent affair with an attractive member of the fairer sex,“ Douglas breaks the silence.

“Are you ever satisfied?” Martin’s anger spikes. “Tell me, how many women have you dated apart from your three ex-wives?”

In Martin’s mind’s eye Douglas parades with his former girlfriends, rows of gorgeous blond model-like stewardesses. “But obviously, you can’t get enough,” he spats viciously. “I expect more from a relationship than some smooth words and casual coupling.” 

„That stings Martin. I’ve never –“ 

However, the rest of his answer is swallowed by a sudden bang when a huge vehicle crashes into them. Martin breaks instinctively, and the van comes to an abrupt halt, propelling them both against the dashboard. Martin’s heart is pounding uncontrollably as he takes an anxious look around. The right front door is blocked by a huge tractor, whose passengers are staring at him through the window, apparently as shocked as him.

To get outside, Martin has to scramble over the passenger seat. The rainy cold hits him like a wall; in the hurry he has left his jacket behind. Meanwhile four young men emerge from the other vehicle, all of them above six foot tall and obviously drunk. Martin has no idea how they have fitted in the small space of the drivers cabin. He braces himself, not willing to be intimidated by these country-boys.

“Good evening gentleman, this is the … erm, actually we just had an accident, during which you drove your tractor into my van and I think we should …erm, call the police,” Martin says as authoritatively as he can manage. 

At that he becomes increasingly crowded by the drunken youths, who gesticulate wildly, whilst trying to pat on his back and speak to him in a manner that is probably meant to be soothing. Martin is too upset to really concentrate. The gist of it seems to be that they’re willing to take the van in tow to the nearest garage, but that they feel totally not responsible for the accident and are prepared to say so to any police officer or insurance company.

“No, no, listen to me, I am aware you meant no harm. But we need the police now,” Martin says slowly, emphasizing every word. Exasperatedly he adds, “You’ve just caused an accident! It’s standard procedure.” 

Martin turns around to Douglas, who watches the enfolding scene with an air of detached indifference. One of the guys who has done the most of the talking, so far, follows Martin’s eyes and grins. “We’re four on two. And your mate don’t seem too keen ‘bout vouching ya.”

It’s a nightmare. Martin wishes that Douglas wouldn’t remain so passive. He grimaces at him, desperately hoping for some hint on how to proceed. On cue Douglas approaches the group, opening his half-lidded eyes, as if to take in the whole mess for the first time. “Calm down Martin. This isn’t exactly life threatening. I think their names will be satisfying.” 

He turns to the young men with a heavy sigh. “Believe me, it’s best for all our sanity to comply. Otherwise he’ll bore the hell out of you for the rest of the night.” 

Martin gulps uncomfortably at this assessment of his character. Douglas takes a closer look at the unlucky driver. “The garage you mentioned is your fathers, isn’t it?” The boy in question nods mutely. 

“Are we all in agreement that we wouldn’t want to trouble him at this hour? O.K. it’s your name now, yes, the one on your driving licence, and then up to the garage and we can forget the whole thing. Is there a place in this charming village to stay for the night, by the way?”

The young men look at each other as if this was the first time anybody has asked about it. “There is the pub,” the driver mutters at last. “I’m sure they’ll have a bed for ya … or two,” he adds, leering drunkenly at Martin. 

Silently they drive to the garage. Since the tractor is largely unscathed, there has been no problem to take the damaged van in tow. Shortly afterwards, Martin and Douglas remain on the now empty yard as they’re searching the area for the pub. They spot it down the main road, scarcely 200 meters away. 

Douglas marches on energetically, neither perturbed by the steady downpour of the rain nor the generally miserable turn of events. “What a bunch of idiots. Lets get dinner. Well, Martin, I assume you want my help.”


	2. Craik

Moving up the stairs to their room after dinner, Martin and Douglas resume their argument, which has started right after the main course. Martin still isn’t sure if it is all an elaborate joke. In fact, Douglas proposition has been totally ridiculous. 

He lowers his voice in case someone might overhear. „Douglas, tell me you don’t mean that. You would seriously lie to the insurance company and even tell them the whole accident was my fault, just to force me to –?“ Overcome with a flood of shame, he flushes and swallows the rest of the sentence. “You can’t be serious.” 

Douglas unlocks their door with an old-fashioned key and enters the room, seemingly oblivious to Martins distress. „I wouldn’t call it lying. I merely found this sudden rush of events a bit overwhelming. In case you haven’t noticed, we were hit by a tractor full of drunken farm workers in the middle of the night. And the windows of your van are rather muddy. I couldn’t see a thing.“

„Douglas, they are not. Or they haven’t been before the crash,” Martin hisses. “As you very well know, I hold my van in pristine condition.“ With the first look at their room, Martin stops mid-lecture and goes abruptly quiet. It’s quite small with two single beds, flowery wallpaper, and the floor of some unidentifiable beige-brown colour. 

In the sudden stillness Douglas turns to look Martin straight in the eyes. „This is not about the van.“ 

He makes his way to the slightly nicer bed by the window, kicks off his shoes, and settles down. Martin silently closes the door and takes another glance at the room, the ugly wallpaper, the narrow beds, and the tiny space in between. 

„You want me to give you a blow job,“ Martin indicates their surroundings with one sweeping motion, „in this room.“

If Douglas is taken aback by Martins outburst, he doesn’t show it. His mocking voice transforms into a low purr. „It’s not that bad. I would say it’s almost romantic. All these flowers and two dashing officers – one of them a captain – in tantalising close quarters. I admit it’s certainly a shame that we aren’t in our uniforms, but look, there are even some plastic orchids on the table.“ 

“Douglas, I don’t care about your orchids. I’m allergic. And this is sexual harassment. Oh come on, please. I’m certain there are women enough in this village, who would gladly –“

„And I assure you that with my help and testimony, you’ll not only get the means for the fixing of your van and the overnight stay at this delightful hotel, but also spare money worth one month rent of this attic of yours,” Douglas persists. “Come on, Martin, wouldn't it be fun?”

“No, Douglas, no!” Martin turns towards the other bed, suddenly overwhelmed by his misery. Images of his damaged van keep coming up, interspersed with the less than friendly faces of the tractor driver and his mates. Even with the money from today’s job, he couldn’t afford the repairs. 

Indeed, this whole mess could be handled much easier with Douglas’ help. Why not, a little voice in his head suggests, just for this one time, get some profit out of his scheming nature. Still mulling over the proposal, Martin has a closer look at the carpet. „Oh God, look at that, I’ll need something … to put under my knees.“ 

„Ah that’s the spirit,” Douglas says. “As long as you start soon.“

But Martin is already on his way to the bathroom. „Thank God, they have towels. It wouldn’t do for my trousers –“ 

„You could always take them of.“ 

The innuendo is lost on Martin. Now, determined to carry the whole thing through, he’s anxious to get it all over and done with. Mechanically he lays out the towel and beckons Douglas over to the edge of the bed. Without looking anywhere near the other man, he kneels down and takes a steadying breath. 

„Martin.“

He lifts his head and stares directly onto Douglas waiting crotch. Martin feels a new wave of bone deep shame coming all over him, rendering him completely unable to move. He chokes a little. „Please, Douglas, can you help me here? With your trousers, I mean. This isn’t exactly an encouraging atmosphere.“

He looks back at the wallpaper, following the intricate flowery design with his eyes. The rustling of clothes and the metallic sound of a zip indicate that Douglas puts his trousers down. 

„Maybe I could give you a hug afterwards.“ 

A surge of nausea threatens to overcome him. „A hug, Douglas, I don’t need to be hugged by you, I want to get this over with. And don’t you dare tell anyone about it.“ High on his indignation and with only the slightest of sideway glances, Martin fumbles with Douglas’ trousers and suddenly holds an erect cock in his hands. 

That feels overwhelmingly intimate – totally detached from his usual quibbles with Douglas. Weirdly, all other thoughts fade away, leaving just the sensations of that in his hands. Martin takes a nervous look. Just weighs it and, surprisingly, likes the feel. Better to get it over with before he starts thinking again. 

He nudges the cock with his opened lips, gets a cautious lap with his tongue. Hmm, its texture is so very soft and fleshy, much like Douglas himself. Martin smiles a little. The smell isn’t too bad either. Obviously Douglas keeps himself clean, which Martin is relieved to discover. It rather fits with Douglas being such a womaniser and all. He opens his mouth some more and takes it in a bit further, sucking experimentally. 

Oh, that's good. Now with his lips around the head of an actual cock, he can admit to himself that he has been curious about it, even if not with Douglas of all people. It is much nicer than he thought and quite arousing. He takes it a bit deeper.

He can barely remember the last time when he has been intimate with someone. It has never been like this. With a sudden urgency, he starts messily sucking this alien thing, trying to make the most of. 

He is loosing any sense of time – sliding his mouth along, licking, swallowing. Oh yes, just like this. 

Douglas' abrupt climax takes Martin unawares; he has been so lost in the sensation. However now, the burst of semen tastes only awful. Martin needs all of his willpower not to let it flow out of his mouth or spit it onto the floor. Once again, he becomes aware of Douglas sitting above him and the towel underneath his knees. 

„That was not bad, overall.“

Martin cannot look at him. Instead he gets up, slightly wobbly from the kneeling, and makes it for the tiny bathroom. He spits into the sink, washes his mouth. Afterwards he lifts his eyes and watches his own reflection in the mirror, revealing a flushed face with furiously reddened lips – thoroughly shagged. 

Five minutes later Martin’s mouth feels relatively fresh again and his dignity seems somewhat restored. He couldn’t have been too bad at it, with Douglas coming so quickly. Deftly he changes into T-Shirt and boxers and enters the bedroom with some bravado. „Well, thank you, Douglas.“ 

It’s empty. He hasn’t heard Douglas leaving. A bit disappointed, but mostly relieved by the reprieve, Martin slumps onto his bed. He leans back against the wall and then buries his face in his hands. Even with Douglas safely out of the room, he feels a bit self-conscious. He wonders where Douglas might be, maybe at the hotel bar or wherever he installs himself after having successfully pulled someone. There might be some protocol for this, not that he would know of this. 

With all the stress draining away, Martin’s exhaustion catches up. He lies down, pulls the duvet over his head, and turns to face the wall. His thoughts wander giddily towards Douglas cock in his mouth and the insurance company of all things. With a little smile on his lips, he falls asleep.


	3. Fitton

The next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, Martin awakes with a start. His attempts to put the encounter with Douglas out of his mind dwindle away in the face of daylight. The memory floods back as if it had happened just a few minutes ago. Martin groans. What if this had been a joke, after all? Surely, he had never been meant to carry it through.

Slowly Martin turns around, wary of meeting Douglas’ eye. Dismayed he notes that the other bed is still vacant. Martin has a vague recollection of Douglas lying there during the night, sleeping there at least for some time. However, it’s painfully obvious that his last night’s partner – Martin cringes at that thought – has no inclination towards a chat the morning after. 

Now fully awake, Martin takes in the room’s ugly décor and the hideous wallpaper. Dubiously he eyes the carpet. In the daylight it looks even filthier, hard to imagine he’d actually knelt there. Determined to get over with the awkward situation, Martin dresses himself. It’s not the first time he has been at the receiving end of Douglas’ teases. He did nothing wrong; he will stick it out. 

In the bathroom Martin rinses his mouth and combs his hair with his fingers. Despite these efforts he still looks ruffled. It has to do. He just needs a minute to steel himself in order to face the world outside this room. Maybe he can catch Douglas at breakfast. 

As Martin enters the bar, he takes a quick look around. There is no sign of Douglas. From the landlady he learns that his colleague has left already. “I think he mentioned an emergency at work,” she says. “But cheer up, all expenses are paid, and you are free to enjoy your breakfast.” 

Martin returns to his table. The breakfast looks good enough, but he hardly has any appetite. Douglas’ evading behaviour fills him with unease. Mechanically he chews some toast and gulps down his coffee. During the night, he had been hoping that he and Douglas would be all right. It was supposed to be just a business transaction. He winces. God, he cannot believe he actually did it. 

Martin butters another toast, smiling wryly in reminiscence. Douglas cock had felt good in his mouth, although he would happily forget everything that happened afterwards. He shakes his head and snorts at the memory. 

However, when he’d agreed to the scheme he had counted on Douglas being quite nonchalant about the whole affair. Isn’t it his area of expertise, after all? Martin finishes his toast with a lump in his stomach. He needs to find Douglas. Hurriedly he swallows the rest of his coffee, and then he checks out and heads to the garage. 

The sky has brightened up and the village looks quite lovely in the sun. It’s hard to believe that it had been the scene of yesterdays’ nightmarish occurrences. The yard at the garage is still deserted like it was the night before, but Martin can hear noises from the building nearby. 

Evading the puddles of rainwater on the ground, he approaches the door. He enters a small office, cluttered with files and paper on every available surface. An elderly gentleman, probably the owner, looks up from his computer screen. “Good morning, you are the young man with the van, I believe.”

“Martin Crieff, from Icarus Removals.”

“Yes, as I told your colleague from … what was the name?” The man frowns and searches his desk.

“Never mind, it’s a bit complicated,” Martin says.

“Yes, all right.” The man has found the right piece of paper and studies it. “As I said to your colleague, your van will be ready in two days time. We’ll repair all damage caused by the crash and we agreed on a full service check, too. We don’t want to repeat last evenings events, just because your vehicle isn’t secure, eh.”

“Not secure?” Martin splutters. 

“Yes, your colleague mentioned you might be a bit tetchy after the shock. But calm down, son, we will return your van whole and sound to … yes, Fitton. Never heard of it.”

“But that’s a five-hour drive,” Martin murmurs. The man cannot be serious. This seems much too easy. His problems don’t tend to vanish in miraculous ways. 

The owner shakes his head. “No, it’s all clear. Your colleague was here just an hour ago and I arranged all the details with him. By the way, I have message for you. There is a tiny airfield outside of town. If you need a lift home, he has some friends there, which could fly you back to …” 

“Fitton.” Martin says perplexed. He stares at the scattered papers as if they might hold some clues. Why isn’t Douglas here with him to tell him the good news in person? Martin closes his eyes. All this fuss about one blow job. And who could be these mysterious friends? 

All of a sudden truth hits. Most certainly they’re some of Douglas’ smuggling accomplices. Martin groans as he’s struck by another nasty thought. What if demanding blow jobs for favours is common practice among these guys?

“Should I take you to the airfield?” the old man asks. 

“No, no, thank you.” Martin shakes his head and straightens himself. “Is there a bus that could get me to the nearest train station?” 

***

It has been a week since that fateful trip to Bluebell Cottage. During the whole time, there has been no word from Douglas. Some insurance paperwork arrived by post, but that was it. And the van was safely returned home, thank God.

Today Martin – anxious to file the flight-plan in solitary peace and quiet – has gotten to the airfield early. It is a mild, sunny day, perfect weather conditions for their cargo trip to Madrid. Martin is just finishing the walk-around when Douglas’ Lexus comes up the parking lot. 

Martin tries to get his quickening heartbeat under control. A last look at his clipboard confirms that all pre-flight checks are completed. Then, after assessing his accurately pressed uniform, he walks towards the others. From what Martin can conceive through the blinding morning sun Douglas appears to be quite relaxed, jovially chatting with Arthur. He feels an unexpected stab of jealousy at their easygoing manner. 

Martin pulls himself together. He hadn’t expected dinner and roses. Douglas’ behaviour, or better the lack of it, demonstrated quite clearly that he wouldn’t acknowledge anything between them. Martin is happy to go with that, since it’s exactly what he wished for in the first place; and not only because he detests dalliances between co-workers on principle. It just stings that his performance hasn’t made a deeper impression on Douglas. 

Anxious not to show any of these disturbing thoughts, Martin puts on his best cool, professional smile as the others arrive on the tarmac. “Good morning gentlemen. The flight-plan is ready and the pre-flight checks are complete.” 

“Jolly good, Martin,” Douglas says, slightly strained by the amount of activity at the early hour. “Then by all means, let’s go.” 

However, Martin is already on his way to G-ERTI. He takes his seat and busies himself with the instrument panel. When Douglas follows he continues, “The weather in Madrid is sunny.”

“Yes, thank you, Martin,” Douglas sighs. “I thought as much, in Spain, in the middle of July.”

“… and no warnings of strong winds or thunderstorms. Our estimated flight-time is two and a half hours.”

Douglas makes himself at home in the co-pilot’s seat, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Ah, lovely Spain in summer.” 

Martin ignores him. “ATC this is Golf Tango India, requesting permission for take-off.” Then he taxies G-ERTI silently to the runway. 

***

At cruising altitude Douglas turns around and looks at Martin enquiringly. “So, did you have a good journey home?” 

Martin’s heart jumps at that, not quite prepared for serious talking after all the anxiety. “Yes,” he says cautiously, “and no thanks to you.”

When Douglas doesn’t react,Martin ticks off acerbically, “The train was excellent and only minimally late and for the last two stations I actually had a seat.” 

Douglas shifts in his seat uneasily. “You could have taken the plane with my mates from Air England, it was all arranged,“ he grouses.

“Ah, and surely, I would’ve to have fucked every single one of them for that privilege.” Martin grows hot with a sudden surge of anger.

“Martin! You can’t believe – ” Douglas exclaims. 

But Martin stoically ignores him. After a moment Douglas carries on coolly, “They – as a proper airline – have a lovely cabin crew for that. No need to take the skinny captain, Sir.”

The sudden hurt renders Martin speechless for a second or two. Trembling he turns around to face his ex-lover at last. “Douglas, I’m aware, that I’m not first choice, but –”

“Martin, I’ve never –”

“Oh God, you have control.” Scraping together what is left of his dignity, Martin gets up and flees the flight deck. 

***

Blindly he stumbles into the galley and runs into Arthur, who is busy filling a tray. Martin comes to a halt and warily takes in his surroundings. He lets himself slump onto the jump seat. 

“Coffee, Skip?”

“Oh God, Arthur, why can’t Douglas for once be …“ Martin buries his burning face in his hands.

Arthur hands him a cup of coffee, hovering nearby, obviously concerned. “What do you mean, Skip?”

“… behave like a professional,” Martin says with feeling. At Arthur’s questioning look he explains, “I mean he’s always so sarcastic. And then all his talk about women, his affairs with cabin crew.”

“Oh, that.” Arthur gets another cup of coffee and makes himself comfortable. “But Skip, it’s not that bad. Most of them were really nice.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that.” Martin says with an exasperated laugh. “But how does he treat them? I mean if he treats them like me … like us, apart from Carolyn naturally. They must hate him.”

Arthur thinks about that. “No, no, you get it wrong. I mean they were charmed. You know Douglas. A lot of giggling.”

Martin takes a sip of his coffee, contemplating that. “Did you … did you actually meet any of them? Did he ever bring them to dinner or something?”

“Ah, yeah,” Arthur says. “But that was before his last wife. I wonder why he doesn’t do it anymore, now, that he’s single again. ”

“He doesn’t get any younger,” Martin says crisply. “Probably it’s all talking with him nowadays.” Oddly reassured by that image, even if he knows from personal experience that it isn't true, he gets up with fresh vigour. 

“Thank you, Arthur. No more time for idly chatting.” Martin places his empty cup forcefully on the tray and heads towards the flight deck. 

Douglas turns around startled when Martin closes the door with unnatural force. “Ah, our esteemed captain.” As he catches sight of Martin’s determined face he becomes serious. “Listen Martin, I’ve never meant to say you weren’t good –” 

“Enough Douglas!” Martin barks. “I don’t expect to be wooed or charmed. However, we will handle this incident as professionals. That means no more sexual quips about flying personnel. It was a one-off. A business transaction, as you may say.” As an afterthought he adds sheepishly, “Everything went smoothly with the insurance company.” 

Douglas relaxes a bit at that. “O.K., Martin, if that’s what you want, I won’t say a word about it.”

Thank God, they’ve talked at last. Martin nods and reclines in his seat. He lets his gaze wander over the sea of clouds underneath them, feeling the stress draining away. 

“So Martin, with the unavoidable pillow talk out of the way. What are your plans for your day off in Madrid?”


	4. Madrid

Martin is coated in a layer of sweat and his cheeks are burning red when they finally reach a small hotel situated almost near the city centre of Madrid, but not quite so. His flight bag feels much too heavy in his hands, and he hopes that his uniform jacket hides the dark patches under his armpits. 

Inside the plain foyer Martin lets himself sink onto a worn out sofa, trying to ignore the springs that press into his back. Idly he lets his gaze wander about the yellowed posters advertising the sights, for once happy to let Arthur and Douglas sort out the accommodation by themselves.

“Mum said we could all get our separate rooms at this place. Or, as an alternative, sleep all together in one room at a nice hotel.” Arthur beams, keys dangling in his hands.

“Fair enough.” Douglas takes an enquiring look around. He dismisses the old-fashioned lift and heads for the stairs. “It’s the fifth floor, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and there is a rooftop with a swimming pool,” Arthur exclaims, hurrying after him.

Martin gets up from the sofa as he eyes the stairs dubiously. His head is buzzing with the strangest thoughts. He certainly had expected to share rooms with Douglas, like he did countless times before. Now, amid the heartfelt relief, there is this tiny twinge of disappointment. 

Something even more disturbing crosses his mind. Could Carolyn have separated him and Douglas on purpose? That would be truly paranoid, wouldn’t it? Everything is fine, he reassures himself. It’s just the heat playing tricks with his reasoning.

As they make it to their floor, even Douglas, who is ever so unfazed by anything, including difficult weather conditions, is huffing from the effort of climbing five flights of stairs in a row. Feeling too exhausted to squabble about the rooms, Martin leans against the nearest wall, leaving the first pick to the others. Besides, with the little he can see through the opened doors, the differences aren’t big. Hopefully, they’ll all include a bed and a shower. 

“See, there is this lovely one with a balcony and an inviting double bed. And since our captain is so hardworking,” Douglas announces from the far end of corridor. 

“Brilliant, Douglas, you’re right. Martin seemed a little stressed-out during the flight.”

Martin lifts his head and gets nearer. Indeed, this one has a floor to ceiling window with a little landing attached to it, surrounded by an iron grill. He crosses the room and steps outside. The so-called balcony has the size of two or three flowerpots. He shakes his head. Still, it would be nice to get some fresh air at night. After examining the view of the busy street below, he turns back to the others. 

“Thank you, Douglas, that is thoughtful of you.” He moves towards the bed. “I mean being the captain is quite demanding. Actually, there’s more to it than one might think. I’ll take it.” With a nervous laugh, Martin puts his flight bag onto the bed, secretly pleased by Douglas’ gentlemanly behaviour.

“Right-o Skip.” Arthur grabs his own bag and leaves with a little wave, tugging Douglas behind him. Martin closes the door and hangs his uniform-jacket on the peg.

*** 

After a shower of lukewarm water, incidentally the only temperature available, Martin reclines on the bed. Feeling refreshed and revived, his thoughts wander once more towards Douglas. Why has he gone out of his way securing the balcony for him? 

His imagination builds up the most surreal scenario; Douglas visiting him at night, a slight breeze stirring the curtains, both of them standing outside, watching the illuminated city. Maybe Douglas embraces him from behind, their cheeks touching lightly. Embarrassed by his own fantasy, Martin gets up again and resumes unpacking. 

They’ve agreed to meet for lunch and drinks at a bar near the hotel. Martin checks his watch and realises he’s already five minutes late. As quickly as possible he changes into something presentable – his Bermudas and a white polo shirt. At last he puts on his new aviator shades and hurries out of the door. 

The prospect of spending off-duty time with Douglas leaves him strangely elevated. It’s comforting having dissolved their useless misunderstandings. Hopefully, he’ll be able to enjoy their layover now. 

***

The sun and heat outside the building come as a little shock. Martin is glad he has thought of his sunglasses. The bar they’ve chosen for their meet-up is located right across the street, opposite the hotel. All windows are opened invitingly towards the pavement. However, it seems to be quiet at this time of the day. Douglas is the only guest seated at a front table, apparently enjoying the view of the passengers walking by. 

“Hello, Douglas.” Martin hurries over, glad that he isn’t the only one late. “Arthur isn’t here, yet? Couldn’t wait trying out the pool?”

“Good Lord, no. He’s back inside, checking if the waitress needs any help serving our drinks.”

“Chatting her up, more likely,” Martin chuckles and cranes his neck towards the bar. He has to take off his glasses, since they’re too dark for any use indoors. Through the dim light he can make out Arthur and a beautiful, young waitress, who is filling glasses with fresh orange juice.

“So, Martin, out of your jacket at last. What a pleasant surprise.” Douglas settles comfortably in his seat. “Maybe it’s just as well that MJN doesn’t have a summer uniform.”

Martin takes a quick look down at his shorts and sandals. He’s oddly pleased with Douglas commenting on his appearance. “As you very well know, Douglas, uniforms are for professional use only. Actually, I do have a private life, including casual clothing.” 

“You almost fooled me.”

Martin takes a seat and shifts his attention towards Douglas. That’s when he notices his outfit for the first time. He has to suppress an undignified snigger. Douglas is clad in linen trousers with a nice shirt, a matching jacket draped over the back of his chair, exactly as Martin envisioned him in his sultry daydream back at the hotel. 

He’s still searching for the right comment when the waitress appears with Arthur in tow. Slightly annoyed by the intrusion, Martin accepts a glass of juice and takes a cautious sip. It’s so much better than the lukewarm water he had back at the hotel. 

In the meantime Arthur sits down, wriggling in his seat, unable to contain his surplus energy. “Hi guys.” He downs half of his juice and then looks at the others expectantly. “What are your plans for today?” 

The question takes Martin unawares. For this one time, he has been resolved to not over think everything, just to enjoy their time together, and then taking it from there. 

“I’ll go and visit the Prado,” Douglas says at last, turning his eyes curiously to Martin. “I’ve never come around seeing the black paintings of Goya.” 

“That sounds interesting. I'll be up at the pool.” Arthur beams at both of them.

“And you, Martin?”

Martin gulps down another sip of his drink, flustered by the intensity of Douglas’ gaze all of sudden. “Erm, I’ve not decided yet.” 

Truth to be told, he knew of Douglas’ plans, thanks to their conversation back at G-ERTI. He just hadn’t realised that he might had meant of them going together. Than it hits him. All those nice linen clothes. That’s Douglas asking him out, isn’t it? 

Trying for indifference, he elaborates, “In this heat, wouldn’t it be wiser to stay here, lying at the pool. Getting a bit of a tan. I’m not much for art anyway.”

If Douglas is disappointed, he certainly doesn’t show it. Smoothly he continues, “Afterwards there is a small restaurant that makes a fantastic paella.” 

Oh God, that definitely sounds like an invitation. Martin’s thoughts race. Why would Douglas take him out for a date when he has refused to talk to him for the past week? Cautiously he says, “Maybe we could all go to that restaurant. I mean you, Arthur and me. If it is really that good?”

One look at Douglas’ expression confirms that he has made a mistake.

“Yes well, as happy as I would be to oblige, I must admit I already have an appointment with a friend of mine, who happens to stay over night as well,” Douglas says apologetically. “But feel free to join in.”

“Some flying personnel, I presume. Real pilots, real cabin crew.” Martin tries to keep his voice under control. 

“Yes,” Douglas says mildly. 

“I see. I’m sure I can find something to eat with Arthur,” Martin says, feeling thoroughly defeated. 

At this moment a beautiful young woman with shiny, long, ginger hair walks over to their table. She gives Douglas a little peck on the cheek before she sits down and joins them. 

“May I introduce?” Douglas takes her hand. “This is Erin from Air Lingus. She also happens to study history of arts at Dublin University. She'll be my guide for today.” 

***

Afterwards Martin has no real recollection how he got through the meal. Being surrounded by beautiful women, flirting with his colleagues. However, the curious thing is, lying in the shade at that rooftop pool, actually feels quite relaxing. Just lying there, buried in a mystery novel or watching Arthur splashing in the water together with all the other kids. 

Under different circumstances Martin might find the Spanish heat oppressive, but now it feels like a save haven. It renders him motionless, effectively reducing his world to this tiny spot on the sun-bed. From this point of view, Douglas seems to be nothing more than a minor annoyance, rambling around somewhere in the city. For the life of him, Martin couldn’t imagine following him, going out to visit some museum. 

Later on, when the heat isn’t so stifling anymore, he engages in a short conversation with Arthur. It confirms what Martin has suspected all along. Douglas is not particularly interested in gingers. Erin’s hair-colour must have been pure chance. Arthur claims that he has never noticed any colour preference. 

It’s in the evening when Martin’s unease gradually appears again. It’s like hosting a growing lump in his stomach. Having chosen the same bar for dinner makes it only worse, reminding him constantly of Douglas and his stunning date. At least Arthur seems to be happy. He engages in boisterous conversation with Elena, their now familiar waitress, whenever she comes near their table. Resigned Martin lets Arthur and his newfound friend pursue the nightlife on their own. 

Back at the hotel, Martin just crawls into bed, mentally exhausted from the mess today. Dumbly he stares at the wall. Why is it always him, who ends up alone, apparently unfit for human company? He sighs. Since when have these things become important, anyway? It’s these blasted overnight stays he decides. Layovers with too much time on hand.

Furiously Martin turns around until he faces the balcony, feeling an unhealthy urge to watch out for Douglas and Erin. He tries to block out all thoughts of them, refusing to acknowledge this upheaval of feelings, all these uncontrollable bouts of jealousy. Why now? He and Douglas have never gotten on particularly well. 

Abruptly Martin gets up and steps outside. He leans heavily on the balustrade, sensing the cool air all over his sweating body. Oh, it’s this dammed blow job’s entire fault. After the affair he’d expected to be purely ashamed of it, happy to have it never brought up again. However now, every time he sees Douglas, there is this odd feeling. As if there should be more of a connection between them, a subtle shift, different to the way it was before. Like becoming friends, maybe. 

Oh God, he wishes he’d never been intimate with the man. Today in the bar, the first few minutes alone with Douglas, he’d thought he’d found it then in the unexpected spark in their conversation. And then Douglas had to show off his gorgeous new girlfriend. Martin shakes his head at his own stupidity.

Determined not to make a fool of himself, he leaves the balcony. He’ll take a shower and go to bed afterwards. Thank God, he still has his mystery novel.

Later at night, when Martin tosses and turns and sleep eludes him, visions come up of Douglas and Erin as lovers. Douglas kissing her, taking her, both of them moving in bed together. When he can’t bear it anymore he resolutely turns on the light, searching for oblivion with the detectives. 

***

In the morning, Martin feels like he hasn’t slept at all. He enters the breakfast room, prepared for another round of giggling. To his great surprise, it’s only Douglas and Arthur sitting at the table, well rested in their uniforms. Martin blinks in confusion. It is as if yesterday’s dalliances had been just some kind of weird dream. 

“So, Douglas, and where is Erin, by the way? No layover?” Martin takes the seat opposite of him. 

Douglas looks up from his boiled egg, fixing Martin with a curious gaze. “No, as you can well imagine, Air Lingus provides its employees with far better accommodation than MJN Air.”

“And no nightly activities in this better accommodation? I’m sure their breakfast would surpass this by far.” Martin drums his fingers on the table.

“No, Martin.” Douglas reverts his attention back to the egg. “I had an entertaining afternoon full of exceptional art with a delightful meal afterwards and that was the extend of it.”


	5. Bristol

The 'fantastic' restaurant Douglas has discovered for dinner is definitely upscale with its carefully laid out tables and tasteful interior. The walls are covered with pictures of the Clifton Suspension Bridge, photographed from different angles and at various times of the day. After a detailed look at them, Martin immerses himself in the menu. This night’s dinner will be Douglas’ treat, apparently. 

Since Douglas’ admission at breakfast that nothing really had happened between Erin and him, most of the day has been fairly anticlimactic. No more girlfriends out of thin air or talk of romantic entanglements, just their good old flying routine. And now, on top of it all, Douglas takes them out to dinner. God, he only hopes he’s dressed appropriately for this place. Thanks to their last minute diversion, his options have been rather limited. 

On the other side of the table, Douglas and Arthur have discarded the menu and are talking in hushed voices. Arthur has gotten his mobile out and taps on it from time to time. “Brilliant, Douglas,” he exclaims at last and gives Martin an unexpectedly warm smile. In the next moment he pockets his phone and gets ready to leave. “OK guys, I’m off.” 

Putting his menu down on the starched white tablecloth, Martin shoots a bewildered look at his retreating back. “What was that for? We haven’t even eaten, yet.” 

Douglas shrugs and then takes a careful sip of his mineral water. “I’ve been made to believe that he'll meet some girl named Betsy. Their plans involve a barbecue with her friends, followed by a round of board games.” 

“Oh.” Martin shakes his head, still uncomprehending why Arthur would turn down a free dinner at such a nice place. “And who is this Betsy anyway? Don’t tell me it’s our waitress again.” Hectically he scans the room until he spots her behind the bar. 

“Ah no, she’s working at Bristol airport. Arthur met her during our last diversion. Didn’t he tell you? Maybe you should pay more attention to the private lives of your co-workers,” Douglas says mock-seriously.

Martin settles back, playing with the stem of his wineglass. “I see, and she works at the duty-free, helping him choose Toblerones,“ he retorts, amused by his own wit.

“No, I think it was the book store.” Douglas says gently. 

“Oh.” Martin still can’t make head or tail of it. Absently he folds and refolds his napkin. “That’s good for him, I think,” he murmurs mostly to himself. As the silence stretches it sinks in that they’re alone at last. 

To play for time Martin takes another sip of his wine, concentrating on the flavour. Finally resolved, he glances up. “So, it’s just you and me then,” Martin says, smiling tentatively. 

***

Later on, when they step out of the restaurant, the warm summer air engulfs them. The meal has been as delicious as promised, although rather expensive and Martin enjoyed every minute of it. He still feels a bit tipsy from the wine, but he’s glad that Douglas persuaded him to order a second glass. Stealing a sideways glance at him, he muses that this must be the way Douglas probably spends most of his evenings out. Martin smiles at that. He cannot believe that he’s in on it now, too. He won’t be the odd man out anymore. 

They agree to take a stroll to the famous bridge. Anticipation mixed with real gratitude makes Martin unusually talkative. “That was a lovely meal, Douglas.”

“Yes, indeed. Even if it was a rather unexpected one.” Douglas answers amicably. 

With the alcohol buzzing in his system, Martin raises to the bait. “Come on Douglas, we had to divert. Fitton airfield was closed because of this enormous thunderstorm over South-East-England. It was even on the news – the thunderstorm that is, not our diversion.” Shuddering, Martin recollects his hectic exchanges with ATC forcing their unscheduled detour to Bristol, as well as their arrival at the crowded airport.

Then he rambles on, “And as you said before, you’ve never been to Bristol.” He casts another quick glance at Douglas before he concludes, “And thanks to you, now, not only did we have our special dinner, but also in walking distance to the Suspension Bridge.”

“Ah yes, and I think you have a rather unhealthy obsession with that bridge.” Douglas drawls. “Some fond childhood memories, maybe? Or, beware, a romantic outing with your first girlfriend?”

Martin groans in frustration. Why must Douglas ridicule everything? “I’m afraid you’re mixing up Bristol with Wokingham,” he mutters. 

Just then the illuminated bridge comes into plain sight. Martin falls silent. At this hour, there isn’t too much traffic. Every now and then the sounds of the cicadas are disturbed by the noise of a passing car. Leisurely they walk up to the bridge tower. Douglas stops to study the various plaques, but Martin goes straight over to the middle. He leans on the railing as he tries to make out the river Avon deep down in the darkness. Ever since he saw the bridge on their first approach to Bristol, he has longed to come here. 

While Douglas is still engrossed in the inscriptions, Martin lets his thoughts wander. He has to admit, after actually spending a full evening in each other’s company, yesterday’s fantasies feel a bit presumptuous. Douglas and him as a couple, a silly thought. It’s hard enough to believe that last week’s encounter had been real. Douglas even initiated it. But it’s nice to be out together as co-workers, or possibly friends? Martin concentrates with renewed interest on the canyon below. He has no idea what they are to each other. 

At this point Douglas is coming over, settling at the railing beside him. “Pray tell me, Martin, is the bridge everything you’ve hoped for?”

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Martin nods. “Yes, actually it is.” He feels an unexpected rush of warmth, with Douglas only feet away. Emboldened he asks the one question, which has been nagging him since yesterday. “What about you? Your time at that museum, did it live up to your expectation?”

“Yes, quite so. Didn’t I tell you?” Douglas huffs.

Martin leans in a bit more. Maybe it’s the alcohol acting up again. “I wondered about Erin. Her hair colour appeared to be ginger?”

“What’s that Martin? You know it is.” Now Douglas turns around, his gaze unfathomable.

“And that was purely by chance?” Martin bravely carries on. If it weren’t for the darkness, he wouldn’t have the courage.

“In case you didn’t notice, she is from Ireland. It’s not an uncommon hair colour there.” 

Martin flushes, cursing himself for his own daring. God, Arthur had been right, hadn’t he? Hair colour, gender – it’s all the same to Douglas. He grabs the railing with unnecessary force as he wills himself to stay calm.

But then it’s Douglas voice again, much closer than before. “However, as you very well know, I would never settle for a single scheme.”

Martin starts, and then freezes on the spot. He stares down at his white-knuckled fingers clutching the balustrade. 

“Lately, it has come to my mind that I’m rather fond of gingers,” Douglas continues in a low tone. He’s so close by now they’re almost touching. 

Martin’s whole body starts tingling from the sheer proximity. He’s sure he can feel Douglas’ body-heat already. But that could only mean one thing, couldn’t it? 

“So Martin,” Douglas sounds a bit exasperated now, “the diversion. Do you need any help explaining its absolute necessity and the extra expenses to Carolyn?”

“And what could you possibly want in exchange for that help?” Martin exclaims in a high-pitched voice, overwhelmed by the abrupt recurrence of his discarded fantasies.

“Oh, I have something on my mind.” Douglas says smoothly as he steps back from the railing and strides slowly in the direction of the hotel. 

***

Martin nods vigorously. With quick motions, he turns towards the street as he falls into step with Douglas, who is walking purposefully on. Everything – the bridge, the lighting, the cars – blur into one. To Martin’s over-alert senses it is the smell of the summer air, the cicadas, and the all encompassing humid darkness that make the greatest impression. 

What appeared to be at least a walk of half an hour on the way here, now seems to be reduced to mere minutes before they’re back at their hotel. They cross the lobby without paying much attention to the other late-night guests. Under ordinary circumstances Douglas possibly would have a drink at the bar, charming everyone with his great stories and witty remarks. But not tonight, Martin thinks giddily. 

When he closes the door to their room, Martin’s mouth is already dried out from anxiety. In a few minutes they’ll be intimate, again. With wobbly fingers he disposes of his jacket and follows Douglas to the bed. Halfway through he hesitates. “Erm, how would you like me to –?” Maybe he’s expected to initiate something. 

“Come here, Martin.” Thank God, Douglas extends a hand and beckons him to get closer. Once Martin complies, Douglas dims the light to a soft glow and then leans back against the elaborate headboard, spreading his legs somewhat. 

Martin takes another step, flushing at the rather erotic gesture. Feverishly he contemplates his best way to approach. He dismisses the option of climbing right onto the bed – much too awkward an angle – and goes down on his knees beside it. That has a wanton feel to it, Douglas residing on the bed and him kneeling in front.

Carefully Martin lets his fingers glide over the lush bedding, just something to do to suppress their trembling. It’s reassuring being somewhere nice for a change. He leans forward experimentally, ignoring the uncomfortable pressure of the wooden bedstead against his stomach. “OK, Douglas, shall we begin?” 

With a self-conscious little laugh, Martin gets hold of Douglas’ thighs and watches mesmerised as he opens his trousers. Blushing, Martin joins hands with Douglas, finally taking over, caressing. How could something that feels so good look so weird at the same time? Embarrassed by his own squeamishness he moistens his lips and leans in. 

Oh God, the first touch of the fleshy head against his tongue electrifies his whole body. Absently Martin rubs his hands over the soft fabric of Douglas’ trousers, while he takes the cock in a little more. It’s so easy getting lost in this. 

But then he hears Douglas’ voice from above. Guiltily Martin tries to establish a steady rhythm, some deep sliding motions for Douglas’ benefit. His heart nearly jumps in his throat every time the cock bumps somewhere in his mouth. It’s all too much. “Do you mind, Douglas?” he gulps. “Touching myself?” He cannot ignore his own arousal anymore. 

Not quite waiting for answer, Martin fumbles with his zip until he encloses his erection with his hand. God, that is much better. His hand feels so good down there. However, soon he has to pause again, stuck between the motions of his hands and mouth. “Douglas, I can’t –“ he gasps.

Just then he senses Douglas’ soft touch. Douglas, who cards his fingers lightly through his hair. So very soothing. Martin closes his eyes, concentrating on the calming motion. Slowly his tension eases away and he finds a gentler pace. Now Martin can savour it all. Douglas’ cock in his mouth, as well as his hand gliding over his own erection, relieving the pressure. 

Like their first time, it ends all far too quickly. At the very last, Martin slumps back and rests his head on the bed near Douglas’ thigh. “God Douglas, that was, … well …, really good.” Martin has to catch his breath. His jaw aches and the taste in his mouth becomes increasingly repellent. But the plush duvet feels quite comfortable against his cheek.

“Come here, Martin.” Douglas’ voice calls out to him through his post-orgasmic haze. “Don’t fall asleep on the floor.” 

When Martin lifts his eyes, Douglas lies sprawled all over the single-bed, using up every one of the cushions. Embarrassed by the sudden intimacy of that, Martin has to turn his head away. “Douglas, how could we possibly fit together there?” he asks defensively. 

“I assumed it might be cosy. We could cuddle for a while, you know.” In one fluid motion Douglas turns around to face Martin, smiling indulgently. 

“Oh God, look at me.” Martin has begun to scramble upright, despite the weirdness of it all. Now he sits back on his heels as he stares with dawning horror at his soiled clothes. Plus he seems to smear semen everywhere. 

“I really need to shower.” Avoiding Douglas’ eyes, Martin gets up and rushes towards the bathroom. 

***

The shower is of the luxurious kind, supplying a truly strong jet of water. Martin closes his eyes and relishes the thick spray. His messed up clothes lie abandoned and crumpled in a corner. While he tests all the hair products supplied by the hotel, he ponders that he might need Douglas’ help with Carolyn, after all. Expanses will be unreasonably high. 

Clad in fresh underwear and with tousled hair Martin collects his toiletries. He has this overwhelming urge to linger. What if Douglas expects another round? Martin isn’t sure he’s up to that. But then anything would be better than the cool treatment of last time. 

Martin opens the door to their bedroom slightly and squints inside. Thank God, Douglas is still there. What now? He takes a nervous step forward. Maybe a quick hug and kiss goodnight would be for the best. “So, no vanishing act this time?” Martin asks with more self-assurance than he actually feels. 

“As you can clearly see, no, this bed is far to comfortable for that,” Douglas drawls from beneath the covers. “However, I thought you might be escaping through the window after disappearing for half an hour.” 

“God no.” He hadn’t realised how long he’d been gone. Flustered Martin turns towards said window and gazes outside. It’s still warm, but the dark sky has clouded over and the wind rattles at the deckchairs on the terrace one storey below. Martin wonders if some cuddling is still on offer. “Actually, if you must know,” he adds belatedly, “I’m the tiniest bit afraid of heights.” 

“Ah, an interesting trait for a pilot.” Douglas yawns.

Oh no, Douglas sounds like he’ll fall asleep any minute. Silently Martin turns out the light and goes to bed as well. A distant rumble announces the approaching thunderstorm. Martin listens distractedly. All in all, he thinks, this evening went rather well.


	6. Fitton Again

“Post landing checks complete.” Martin lets go of the instrument panel and turns towards Douglas, smiling. After an unperturbed flight home from Bristol, they’re back at Fitton at last. 

“Ah yes, and the smoothest of landings, if I might say so.” Douglas gets up swiftly and puts on his jacket before he moves on to retrieve his overnight bag. “Not the tiniest little bump to trouble our hung-over captain.”

“I need to talk to you.” Martin exclaims. He disengages his seatbelt and follows Douglas out to the galley. 

“Yes?” 

“Before you leave, I wish to thank you for taking the flight today,” Martin says earnestly. “I’m aware there is no excuse for indulging in alcohol on the night before a flight – especially as I’m the captain. But you know, at the restaurant –“ he gestures vaguely between the two of them. 

“Aha. That sounds quite convincing, Sir.” Douglas smirks.

“This is a serious matter. I could loose my license,” Martin insists with growing urgency. ”It won’t happen anymore.” 

Douglas looks at him strangely. “Martin, trust me, I’ve no doubt of that.” Then he shoulders his bag and walks out of the cabin-door.

“Wait, Douglas! I mean it, you can rely on me in the future!” Martin calls out. It’s futile, of course, since the first officer has left already. “And I’ll do the whole paperwork in exchange,” Martin adds for nobody in particular to hear. 

***

In the close confines of MJN’s portacabin Martin stares at the substantial amount of folders in front of him. For once he finds it hard to concentrate on the paperwork. He lets his gaze wander towards the window where he can get a tiny glimpse of G-ERTI. Sighing, he relives the events of the last two days for the hundredth time. 

It still seems a bit unreal. Douglas acting so secretive and aloof at first, in Madrid. And then, after their unexpected diversion, everything changed almost magically. God, and the sex. Martin feels his cheeks heating at the memory. Annoyed he shifts his attention back to work. He’s got a van-job scheduled for the afternoon. If he wants to finish here on time, he has to hurry up. 

“Hi Skip, have you seen Douglas?” 

Startled Martin raises his head and finds Arthur standing by the door. “I’m sorry, what?” he asks impatiently. “Look, I’m a bit in a rush. I’m sure Carolyn will fetch you any minute.” 

Martin reaches for the nearest stack of paper and takes a deep breath. He can’t even blame Douglas for skipping work, his first officer’s speedy departure being justified for once. With a sinking feeling, Martin realises that he has no idea what Douglas has planned for later on or the next few days. In his eagerness to apologize he has simply forgotten to ask. 

“No, I have my own car waiting.” Arthur sits down at the edge of Douglas’ cluttered desk. “But why isn’t Douglas here with you? Didn’t you two enjoy your date? The restaurant, it really looked nice.” 

“That wasn’t a date,” Martin says blushing. “It was pure chance we had to divert.” 

“Oh, but Douglas said –” Arthur seems at a loss.

“It’s not as if he’s controlling the weather by now, Arthur.” Without looking up, Martin continues filling out the form. “And if I remember correctly, you were invited too.” 

“Yeah, but not really.” Arthur chuckles, grimacing suggestively. When Martin blinks at him in confusion he becomes uncomfortable again. “Look Skip, I’ll better go.” 

“What? Wait, why shouldn’t you have been there?” Now fully alert, Martin swivels around and faces Arthur properly. He recalls the last evening, especially the hushed exchange in the restaurant. “God, he arranged it all.” 

Groaning, Martin sinks back into his seat. How could he have been so stupid? “What did Douglas promise you to stay away?” he asks suspiciously. “There is no Betsy, I presume.” 

“No, there is. She’s very nice.” Arthur hastens to reassure. With a little jump he is at Martin’s desk. “But Douglas, hasn’t he been a bit quiet today?”

Still embarrassed by his own gullibility, Martin moves slightly, avoiding contact. Then he considers Arthur’s question. It’s true; during their flight he hadn’t spent much attention on Douglas. Indulging in daydreams, but ignoring the real man beside him. “He might have been a bit subdued,” he ventures slowly, thinking of the rapid exit after the flight. “For Douglas, anyway.”

“What about me, Martin?” Douglas booms as he walks into the portacabin all of sudden. “I’ve just talked to Carolyn. Our extra expenses are now officially approved.”

“Douglas, what …” Martin stares as if he were seeing an apparition. Why didn’t Douglas go home as always? He shoots a helpless glance at Arthur, who is beaming at both of them. What if it actually had been some kind of scheme? The hotel, the restaurant – all Douglas’ doing, making sure Martin enjoyed himself. 

Martin goes hot and cold as he thinks of his overlong shower, as well as the unusual silence in the flight deck today. God, and now Douglas is here, waiting for him, or more likely, for some response. “I might have interpreted some things the teeniest bit wrong,” he whispers in direction of his flight manuals. 

“What was that, Martin?”

With effort Martin pulls himself together. He shoots a nervous glance at Douglas, who’s watching the outburst calmly, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. 

“Douglas, would you like to go out and have dinner with me?” Martin asks breathlessly. 

***

That has been three days ago. Now, Martin is standing in Douglas’ living room, very much in awe at the sheer amount of space. Everything in here is tastefully decorated. A proper home. But Douglas has been married for most of his adult life Martin reminds himself. 

There are lots of pictures on the walls, mostly holiday snaps of Douglas’ daughter at exotic places. Martin takes a few steps forward and has a closer look. He imagines adding some interesting aerial views but quickly berates himself. It’s not like he’ll be moving in, least of all redecorating.

Listening to the cluttering sounds coming from the kitchen, Martin hurriedly takes a seat on one of the cream coloured sofas. He’s quite nervous, and he doesn’t wish to get caught snooping on top of everything. But Douglas still seems busy with his Italian coffee machine. 

Martin moves some of the cushions out of the way before he leans further back. Their date has been near perfect, so far. The salmon risotto at the Italian place Douglas had suggested was fantastic. And prices were moderate too, thank God. Sighing, Martin glances at the expensive looking stereo and the huge CD collection, mainly classical pieces. At some point they’ll have to talk about money, though. There is no way Martin could keep pace with Douglas’ lifestyle. 

Earlier on, Douglas had insisted on paying, again, hinting Martin could make it up to him later. That had been awkward. But luckily, he had the means to refuse for once. He just hopes, if they ever become boyfriends, Douglas will think of something. Martin has to suppress a nervous giggle, imagining it. Douglas will even bully Carolyn into paying him. To giddy to sit still, Martin cranes his neck to have another look at the photos. Maybe he could get a peek of Douglas in his younger years. 

“So Martin, here’s your coffee – black.” With a flourish Douglas places a tray on the table before he sits down. “Milk and sugar, if the fancy strikes you.” 

Startled by the unexpected movement Martin twists around, suddenly face to face with his object of affection. “Ah, thank you, Douglas. Let’s hope we’ll get enough sleep tonight, with all the extra caffeine.”

“Oh, it depends –“

Martin feels a blush creeping up on his cheeks at the innuendo. Gingerly he takes one of the cups and indicates the plate of cookies. “Erm, are they homemade?” 

“Quite so.”

Martin nods mutely, still flustered. He puts the cup back onto the table and tastes one of the cookies instead. “Thank you, Douglas, they’re lovely.”

“Well, Martin, it’s nice to see that you aren’t so shy anymore.” Douglas leans back comfortably. 

“Oh.” Martin abandons the coffee altogether and tries to imitate Douglas’ motions, angling himself nearer still. They’re awfully close now. Martin gulps down nervously. He has never kissed another man, but it can’t be weirder than having a cock in his mouth, or can it? From close up Douglas’ lips appear so very soft and sensuous. The look in his dark eyes warm and inviting. Maybe, he should proceed … 

At this moment Douglas shifts once more and leans forward to retrieve his own cup. He takes a few sips, apparently lost in thought. Then, as if coming to a decision, he turns towards Martin, his expression carefully neutral. “So, Martin, I’m sure real girlfriends will fight over you in the future,” he says lightly.

“Girlfriends?” Martin freezes. 

“Ah, you’re becoming quite the catch. Good looking, funny, kind, the usual spec.” Douglas elaborates. “I hope it’ll all be rather natural now with a little more practice.”

“What do you mean … practice? Never mind.” Shell-shocked Martin stares down at the coffee tray as he desperately tries to make sense of Douglas’ ridiculous words. God, it is Douglas letting him down, isn’t it? Pretending their …, whatever it is, is just another game.

Martin forces himself up and takes some furtive steps towards the door. “Could we talk later, please? I need to go to the loo.” 

***

It’s a struggle bringing his breathing under control. Martin leans heavily on the sink, his emotions in turmoil. He doesn’t dare looking into the mirror. He fears his disappointment might be written all over his face. Has he imagined himself as a proper boyfriend, just five minutes ago? 

Oh God, now Martin feels really sick. Cautiously he sits down on the rim of the bathtub, burying his face in his hands. His first tentative romance in how many years, merely one of Douglas little games.

Douglas has been right, of course. Martin had let his guard down, allowing himself to be swept along – all those dates, restaurants, sex. A heady mix, especially for someone who has been living on toast and pasta for years. Martin smiles ruefully. Quite the catch – Douglas said. But why should someone like Douglas have an interest in him, really? Even at his age, he could have anybody. 

As a new wave of misery threatens to overcome him, Martin wills himself to keep calm. He cannot hide in here forever. He shoots one last longing gaze at the oversized bathtub, complete with a pile of fluffy towels beside it, rather perfect for relaxing after a long flight. Then he makes his decision. It has been a mistake to take this little dalliance too seriously; Martin sees that now. However, Douglas must never know, and therefore Martin will play along. 

What has been the phrase – practice? Douglas can have just that. Martin pushes himself up from the bathtub and splashes water on his face. Steeling himself to go back in. They will be together, one last time, before he can feign disinterest. 

*** 

The march down the hall, past the gilded mirror and even more photos of Douglas’ exciting life, seems to go on forever. Martin envisions all the beautiful ex-wives, living in this place, maybe standing before that same mirror, getting ready for some fabulous evening event. How could he have ever thought he would fit in here?

At the living room door, Martin plasters a smile on his face. He still feels a bit hazy, but he ploughs on bravely until he’s back at the coffee table. There is music. In his absence Douglas must have put on a CD.

Distractedly Martin listens to the tune. It sounds nice. But he must not become sidetracked now. He checks that his smile is still in place and clears his throat. In his most seductive voice he says, “So, Douglas, the practice we’ve been coming here for. Shall we begin?”

“Gosh, Martin, I didn’t mean to be that forward.” Douglas says taken aback. “Maybe we should talk some more before –?”

“God no, we talk all the time during the flights. Let’s practise.” With a knowing smirk and a little spring in his step, Martin moves forward. “Shall we?” He kneels down and reaches for Douglas’ trousers. Martin’s fingers tremble as he moves the obstructing garments out of the way. 

So, now he’s doing it again, sitting before Douglas’ hardening cock. Immediately Martin recognizes the shape, the familiar fleshy texture, its smell. Without thinking he leans in, softly enclosing it with his lips, gently messaging with his tongue. Oh God, it feels actually like coming home, after only two times together. Martin groans at the sudden overflow of emotions. It’s all too much; he’s ready to get up and flee. But then – greedily – he takes the cock all the way in, longing for the contact. 

All he wants is to drown in the sensation, to simply feel. Trying to preserve this precious moment. Martin closes his eyes and sucks eagerly. Everything goes dark, like the summer evening they’ve just been driving through on their way back home from the restaurant. All the high hopes he had then, being shattered now. It’s almost too much to bear.

Afterwards he can hardly look into Douglas’ eyes, afraid to give himself away. He stands up and presses a hand against his mouth. “The risotto, I’m afraid the fish might have been a bit off. I’m feeling really sick.” 

Doggedly Martin ignores Douglas’ surprised shouts. He grabs his jacket and rushes towards the door. In the hall he quickens his pace, his imagination being fuelled once more by the reminders of the former Mrs. Richardsons. Before going completely mad, he escapes through the front door. 

Martin falls into a light jog and doesn’t dare stopping until he’s out of sight. He leans back against a wall as he catches his breath, in his mind’s eye still at Douglas’ place. God, what on earth made him do that? Literally running away from a date right after sex. 

But it hasn’t been a date, really, a little voice reminds Martin. Douglas has never intended anything serious. Arthur got it wrong, after all. Fighting against the pricking tears, Martin starts walking again. At least, it’s all over now.


	7. Zurich

Martin hasn’t slept well and his uniform is a bit crumpled when he enters the flight deck, a couple of days after their abysmal date. They’ve got another cargo-trip scheduled – to Zurich. This time, with no CEO or helpful steward necessary, it’s just Douglas and him. Martin shoots a wary glance at the rainy mist outside. The fine weather hasn’t hold. It’s yet another depressing turn of events that matches perfectly with his miserable mood. 

Through the windscreen Martin catches sight of his first officer finishing the walk-around. When Douglas hurries over, hunching his shoulders against the steady downpour, Martin feels a twinge of sympathy. Douglas has been early for once, as well as offering to do some actual work, which Martin had accepted readily. For the time being, he’s beyond impressing his fellow pilot.

Soon after, as they’re exercising the pre-flight checks with an air of professionalism every manual would be proud of, Martin suspects that Douglas does it on purpose. By way of apology. Tentatively Martin begins to relax.

Now, the runway lies straight ahead. Martin loves the moment of calm right before take-off. Even today, despite the highly charged atmosphere in the flight deck, he senses the first stirrings of excitement at the prospect of flying. He sighs. In that respect he’s just like Arthur, even if he’s loath to admit it. He takes control, and then they ascend smoothly through a haze of grey clouds until they reach cruising altitude in the sun. 

“Your aviator shades would come in handy now, Sir.”

Martin nods tersely. So, that’s how Douglas wants to play their break-up. No open talking, just teasing as per usual. At least he remains predictable. 

“How is your stomach, by the way? Any lingering after-effects?” Douglas sounds genuinely concerned. 

“No, all is well, just an upset stomach.” Martin mutters with a sinking feeling. 

“Oh, and I thought it might have been something I’ve said, especially about girlfriends,” Douglas continues prodding. 

“God, Douglas, I was sick. I’m not sure I heard much of anything.” Martin says with emphasis. Better to cut this now before he spills everything. “By the way, I think we should request a weather update.” 

While he calls ATC he watches Douglas out of the corner of the eye. He doesn’t trust the thoughtful silence. “It’s raining in Zurich, but no warnings of strong winds yet. However, I’ll better check if everything is secured in the cabin. We may get a rough landing.”

“Captain, I might be wrong,” Douglas talks as if addressing an upset child, “but I think the weather is perfectly fine. We’re not the first crew attempting to land an aeroplane in a light drizzle. May I suggest you just take a break and fix yourself some camomile tea. It might do wonders for your nerves.” 

“There is nothing wrong with my nerves,” Martin spats. “You have control.” He shrugs out off his seatbelt and leaves the flight deck as dignified as possible. When he reaches the cabin he drops into the nearest seat, closing his eyes. Why must Douglas act so superior at all times? Being the better pilot obviously isn’t enough. No, he has to be more witty, clever … and now, an armchair psychologist. 

Martin stares out of the window. He doesn’t need a psychologist to know what’s wrong with him. Resignedly he wonders if Douglas is an outstanding kisser, too? Odd that throughout their whole affair he has never benefited from that particular skill. 

***

Twenty minutes later, Martin returns to the flight deck, balancing a tray. “Since we’ve been caught in the rain, I’ve made some coffee.”

“That’s very generous, Captain.” Douglas accepts his cup and takes a sip. Then he speaks up again. “Martin, I’ve got something to propose.” 

Instantly Martin tenses at the serious tone. “Hopefully nothing to do with girlfriends,” he quips as he sits down on the captain’s seat. “Or flight deck buckaroo.”

”No, about our hotel,” Douglas answers mildly. “Carolyn, in her endless generosity, will pay for one room only.”

“Oh.”

“Yes – ‘Oh’ – as you so eloquently put it,” Douglas drawls. “I thought, in the light of recent events, it might be sensible if we split up. I would pay for the extra room, naturally.”

Martin gulps down nervously. He cannot believe that matters stand that badly between them. Letting Douglas off the hook lightly had been the whole point of his little performance two days ago. So that everything could go back to normal. Aloud he says, ”You can spare your money. Or, even better, give it to me. It’s nothing we haven’t done before.” 

“Are you serious? I wouldn’t want you to feel coerced.” 

Martin’s anger rises. “It’s a bit late for that,” he returns more viciously than intended. 

“Martin, I profoundly apologize. It has never been my intention to make you feel uncomfortable.“ 

“Yes, I get it.“ For the first time since he ran away that night, Martin takes a closer look at Douglas. His face appears to be rather strained. And he still looks soggy from the rain, with little droplets of water lingering on his cheeks and hair. Not so superior now. Maybe this isn’t easy for Douglas, too. 

Mellowing slightly, Martin adds in a low tone, ”I’m serious. But from now on, please, no more trading of sexual favours. Or helping me along to find a proper girlfriend.” 

“I feared you might have got that bit wrong,” Douglas sighs. He turns in his seat and fixes Martin with an intend gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Martin lets out a frustrated yelp. “Girlfriend, Douglas, after all we’ve done together. I’ve still no idea what that was about.”

“Not one of my finest moments,” Douglas concedes, never breaking eye contact. 

Martin falls silent and glances helplessly at the glimmering lights of the instrument panel. “So what was this all about, then?” he asks at last.

“I suppose, I was testing the waters.” 

“Oh” Martin’s head shoots up. Feverishly he tries to make sense of this. In high-speed he relives the bleak days following Douglas’ cruel words. His miserable walk home, the sleepless nights, and all the hours in the flight simulator. God, he’d been devastated. And all this time Douglas had actually considered … them. 

“So, this testing the waters, had it been to your satisfaction?” he asks in a high-pitched voice, trying not to raise his hopes.

“I already told you.” Now Douglas looks away. “In Bristol,” he clarifies. 

Bristol … had been wonderful, dreamlike even. But it had been clear from the beginning that it was a one-off, due to very special circumstances. “You mean this odd bit about gingers –,” Martin trails off and shakes his head in confusion. 

“However, you seemed to be rather reluctant, right from the start,” Douglas carries on in his usual drawl. “Hence my doubts.”

“Douglas, my van broke down, five hours from home, in the middle of the night, and I’ve never had a cock in my mouth for all my life,” Martin says plaintively. “And you practically ran away, afterwards.” 

“Maybe, but later on …,” Douglas ventures. 

“Oh god, Douglas, possibly I didn’t say it aloud then, but it was all amazing.” Martin blurts out. He flushes when he realizes to what degree he has given himself away. 

“Well.” Douglas turns his attention back to the control panel. 

Martin stares unbelievingly at him. “Douglas, I think you are terrific,” he says quietly. When there is no response he composes himself and calls ATC Zurich. It’s time to prepare for their landing approach. 

***

They descend through the heavy mist of clouds in silence. Martin stares straight ahead, still upset about their exchange a few minutes ago. After his grand overture, Douglas hasn’t said much. Martin wishes desperately that Douglas would give him a sign. What if he has missed the whole point of their conversation in his usual fashion? 

“So this talk about girlfriends, back at your flat?” Martin asks reluctantly. “What was that all about? You being insecure for the first time in your life?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Douglas? You must admit that doesn’t sound very likely.” He’s tensing up by the second.

“Good Lord, Martin. You should’ve seen yourself at my flat.” Douglas bursts out. “You were staring as if you wished to move in on the spot. It all became too serious, too quickly.”

“Oh God.” Martin’s heart is hammering wildly. He wishes the ground would open, swallowing him whole. “No, I’ve never assumed, you and me –“ he says pleadingly.

“Wait!” Douglas reaches out a hand. It feels hot against Martin’s cold and shaky one. “When you practically ran away, right after giving me this fantastic blow job, I thought what an idiot I had been.” 

That sounds more like Douglas. Martin squirms in his seat as he remembers their last time together at Douglas’ perfect home. How star-struck he’d been. His neediness then. “But what we talked about earlier?” he’s almost too afraid to ask. “You’re more serious now, aren’t you?” 

“Like I said.” Douglas looks equally uncomfortable. “I did some thinking over the past few days. But, Martin, this is new to me, too.” 

***

There is not much room for talking after that. Martin takes the landing, proving to himself and others that he’s perfectly capable of operating in a light drizzle. Douglas, on the other hand, is up to his usual game throughout the delicate negotiations with the Swiss customs. They’re both worn-out and it’s rather late when they arrive at their low-budget pension. 

Dubiously Martin eyes their low bed with its old-fashioned duvet. It seems they are, once again, stuck in a smallish hotel-room that appears to have been decorated in the 1950ies. “Douglas, do you think this is a good idea?”

“I think double beds are fairly common in this kind of accommodation.” Douglas starts undressing. There is still a little daylight and Martin watches mesmerized as Douglas sits down half-naked in his t-shirt and boxers. Awkwardly he shrugs out of his uniform jacket, too. 

“Come on Martin.” Douglas lifts the corner of the duvet.

So they’re actually giving it a try. Odd, how much easier it had been when Martin still believed it was just Douglas manipulating him. Biting his dried out lips, he removes the rest of his uniform and strips down to his boxers. Self-consciously Martin glances at his exposed body. Then he settles next to Douglas, rather close by, but avoiding outright touching. 

“Erm – ”

Douglas sighs and rummages in his flight bag. “Here, I’ve brought something I meant to offer you two days ago.” 

Martin’s eyes go wide in astonishment. “Is this Mr. Birling’s whisky?” He takes the bottle of 25-year-old Talisker and turns it from side to side as he examines it reverently. “Douglas, don’t you think we need a proper glass for this?” The next moment Martin is out of bed, again, and rushes towards the bathroom. He returns with a plain glass, smiling sheepishly. 

“Ah yes, glassware for the real connoisseur.” Douglas pours the whisky while Martin sits down, arranging the duvet modestly over his bare chest.

“Thank you.” Their fingers brush as he accepts the whisky. Martin sniffs at it before he takes a careful sip. It burns a bit, but not unpleasantly. “I think I like it.” Martin beams at Douglas. “Maybe, it’ll become my special whisky, too.”

“You’re very welcome, Martin. There is a lot more where this came from.”

Slowly, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreads throughout Martin’s whole body. Hurriedly he downs the rest of the whisky and places the glass on the bedside table. “What do you think, Douglas?” he asks boldly. “Shall we skip the blow job, for once, and move on to the cuddling directly?” 

“By all means.” Douglas opens his arms and pulls Martin into a big hug. Martin cannot help but smile as he snuggles up against Douglas’ soft, warm body. It feels rather natural, as if they’d been doing it for years. 

 

The End


End file.
